As the sky ceased to shower down flakes of crystallized water, I trudged to the door to throw on my snow shoveling gear. Once I looked appropriately uncomfortable in what appeared to be a hundred pounds of winter coat, gloves, scarf, hat, and boots, I felt ready to take on the weather. Despite the bulk of my thick gloves, I grabbed the shovel from my front porch.
As I finished shoveling the thin coating of snow off of my sidewalks and driveway, an unexpected wave of energy filled me. I glanced at my neighbor’s house. Mrs. Waters turned eighty last year, but she still makes the trek to my house with a delectable tray of cookies every couple of months.
With her grandson back at college, I knew I would see her later that morning pushing her shovel to make tiny paths in the snow. I decided my renewed energy meant I should repay her for all those cookies. I still needed to burn off the most recent batch anyway.
As I moved from my sidewalk to hers, tossing snow away from the street, I heard voices approaching. I glanced up to find three teen boys staring at me. I paused and leaned on my shovel.
Their leader looked me up and down. “Lady, why don’t you go inside and warm up. We’ve got this.”
One of his henchmen gained courage from that comment. “Yeah. It’s not like you need the money.” His eyes strayed back to my boots, which I admit I had willingly paid a little extra for, but it didn’t make him less rude for commenting.
“I am not getting paid except in friendship,” I resisted the urge to add “and cookies”.
The leader pondered this for a moment. “How about you pay us to help you out it then. This is a lot of snow.”
I felt his implied assumption of my advanced age. Not too old to be offended by being called old, I picked up my shovel and went back to work with more finesse. As I shoveled my way toward them, the teenagers exchanged glances and backed away from me. Encouraged to see them backing down, I started dancing with the shovel and even launched into some songs about snow, some that I made up and some still stuck in my head from Christmas.
Halfway through an upbeat version of jingle bells, the boys started to harmonize with me. I whipped my head up in surprise to see them shoveling in rhythm with our song. I considered reminding them that I wasn’t paying them for their services, but I had a feeling they remembered.
They started the next song, and I joined in as we listed the names of Santa’s reindeer. Soon we ragout of snow to remove. We paused on opposite sides of the driveway to stare at each other. The opening of the screen door interrupted our quiet contemplation. Four sets of eyes turned toward Mrs. Waters as she stepped out onto her porch with some plastic bags of cookies.
“Thank you so much for the show and the snow removal. I knew I baked cookies last night for a reason. I just wish I had some eggnog for you cheerful carolers.”
We stepped forward to accept our payment. As the boys walked away with their bags already open and half empty, my neighbor gave me a hug.
“Thanks for being a good influence on those boys. Kids don’t realize the joy that can be received and given by serving without expecting payment.”
“Well, they got paid in the best currency I know.” I replied around a mouthful of cookies. “These cookies get better every year.”
“It’s because I get more practice every year. I would love to chat, but…” She waves a trembling hand toward her grey hair. “I get older every year and less inclined to be cold. Have a good day.”
“You, too.”
~I feel like I wrote something similar to this, but after a quick scroll through my archives didn’t yield anything. I mixed it up a little though in the hopes of keeping if fresh and delectable like cookies delivered by a neighbor. Feel free to tell me where to look if your memory of my writings is better than mine.~
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